


'Cause You're So Good at Talking Smack

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: "Sometimes you make me so angry, Sansa.” Jon whispers. “Why do you always get under my skin?” 
Sansa yanks at Jon’s curls, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth before she kisses him harshly. It’s rough but languid, she takes her time, kissing him until her lungs burn and all she can think is how bad she wants him. “The same way you get under mine?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a brand new lyric from the song "you won't know"

Sansa doesn’t knock before she barges into Jon’s solar; cheeks red with anger. “As your wife,” she begins, rushing to his desk to dig her fingernails into the wood, “Should I not have been consulted about the deal you just made with the queen?” 

“Probably,” Jon replies, not bothering to look up from the accounts he’s reviewing. “But there wasn’t any time.” 

“No time?” Sansa says, ripping the parchment from his hands, leaning over the table. 

“She wanted an answer. You know how she is.”

Sansa seethes, trying desperately not to raise her voice. “All our bannermen had you declared King in the North and you throw it all the way for some foreign queen you hardly know?” 

“Sansa,” Jon says, “We’re lucky she didn’t take the title as some sort of sign of open rebellion. Would you like to see us just like King’s Landing?” 

“The North won’t accept it.” 

“They don’t have a choice.” 

“I won’t accept it, either. 'Prince of the North?’ A courtesy title, Jon. She only gave it to you to prove her power.” 

Jon rolls his eyes. “Things are different. What did father do when Robert Baratheon demanded him hand of the king?” His throats clenches at the word father; and Sansa doesn’t miss it. 

“Not your father,” she says, “Starks know the North is different.” 

“I’m half a Stark,” Jon argues, losing his patience. “And perhaps I should’ve asked you, but this is the reaction I would’ve gotten, and really, what good is that doing us?”

Sansa pinches the bridge of her nose, voice cracking as she speaks. “Will there ever be a day you listen to what I have to say? To even ask my advice before you act?”

She leans back down over the desk and Jon can’t help but gaze on the long line of her neck and how her chest heaves in anger. He loves the fire that burns within her, but gods if she doesn’t get under his skin sometimes. Sansa licks her lips, carefully eyeing her husband as he sits back in his chair. 

“As I said,” Jon starts, at his breaking point. “There wasn’t-"

Sansa slams her hands on the desk, flinging all the papers to the ground. She’s overacting and knows it, but she doesn’t care.

“Those were important,” Jon mumbles. 

“I don’t care,” Sansa replies, crossing her arms like a pouting child. 

“Come here,” Jon says quietly, reaching to take Sansa’s hand as she walks to the other side of the desk. 

She gasps as Jon lifts her quite suddenly before he sets her back down on the now-empty table top. His hands encase her waist, his lips at her ear. “Have I ever let you down, Sansa?” 

“No,” she replies. 

“And didn’t I make the promise to protect you always?” 

“Yes,” Sansa says, arching her back as Jon mouths at her neck. Her skin is damp and warm, but heavenly beneath his lips. He traces one thumb across her left collarbone, still leaving light kisses across her neck. 

Sansa shifts on the desk, pulling her skirts up to tangle her legs around Jon’s hips. She can feel heart pounding, but she’s unsure if it’s because she’s still angry or the way Jon’s fingers have made their way to her chest; gently brushing his thumbs over her already peaked nipples. 

“Sometimes you make me so angry, Sansa." Jon whispers. “Why do you always get under my skin?” 

Sansa yanks at Jon’s curls, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth before she kisses him harshly. It’s rough but languid, she takes her time, kissing him until her lungs burn and all she can think is how bad she wants him. “The same way you get under mine?” 

Jon smiles against her lips, fingers running down Sansa’s waist until he pulls her flush against him; quickly undoing the laces of her gown. He mouths at her newly exposed skin, tongue skimming skin her collarbone. Sansa keens as Jon moves lower, his fingers tracing up her legs as he toys with the ribbons of her delicate stockings. Sansa almost purrs as his hands move up her legs, fingertips barely brushing over her center. “You’re soaking,” Jon whispers, “Do you want me?”

Sansa laughs lightly, biting her lip as she pulls at Jon’s hair, forcing him down to his knees. “I want you to shut up,” she says, resting her foot on his shoulder. “And I want your mouth.” 

Jon smirks as Sansa lifts her skirts over her hips. He yanks her smallclothes down her legs, grinning all the while. He slowly licks between her thighs; tongue tracing circles around her clit and up and down her center until Sansa’s grip his hair so hard it hurts. 

He was right; her wetness drips down her legs and onto the table below them, soaking Jon’s chin and cheeks. But fuck, he loves this, arguing with her until she’s so angry the only thing left to do is to make her come so many times she can barely remember her name. He uses his fingers to spread her, to taste her fully on his tastebuds. She’s sweet and tangy all at the same time; husky and heady, overwhelming Jon’s senses. 

He watches Sansa as he licks at her, his eyes locked on hers, unable to look away. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and half-open as she arches her hips to ride Jon’s face. She’s beautiful, Jon thinks, tracing a circle around Sansa’s swollen nub as her thighs begin to tremble. 

Jon digs his fingers into her hips, nails scraping against her skin. He urges her to grind against his mouth, pulling her down as his tongue slips inside her as his thumb gently rubs at her clit. Sansa whines; her own hands gripping the edge of the table as she pushes down, coming suddenly with a whisper of Jon’s name between her lips. 

He licks her through it; holding her down as Sansa writhes and and rolls her hips, begging for more. Jon stands when Sansa stills, wiping his mouth across the back of his hand. She sits up, catching Jon by the back of the neck and kissing him roughly. She can taste herself on his tongue and she loves it; moaning as his their kiss deepens. 

“Are you still angry?” Jon asks, burying his face into her neck and sucking a light mark across her skin. 

“Yes,” Sansa replies, unlacing Jon’s breeches before she palms him; her soft hands tracing up and down his cock. Jon hisses when she squeezes, a smirk forming on her face. “But I want you to fuck me,” she whispers, the curse word calling off her tongue so easily. 

Jon sputters; hastily pushing Sansa onto her back before he slides into her, filling her, both of them groaning at the feeling. Jon closes his eyes as he moves his hips, thrusting a little harder than he means to, but she just feels so good. 

Sansa grits her teeth as she moves up the table, her legs wrapped Jon’s back to keep him close. He fucks her rough, still angry from her brattiness earlier but he loves when they’re like this; spurred by the passion that lives between them. Jon cradles her cheek in his hand as he pushes deeper. It’s like he can’t get enough; and Sansa, too, using her heels to urge him faster. “Harder,” she moans, “Show me how angry you are.” 

Jon braces himself against the table as he moves faster, hips snapping and the sounds of their sex echoing across the room. Their moans fill the space; there’s no doubt all of the castle can hear them, but neither Sansa nor Jon care. Sansa can’t keep her eyes open as he moves inside her, fucking her deep and with no rhythm, sputtering hips and quiet groans. 

Sansa braces herself as her husband moves faster; hips slamming against her thighs. She moans his name, arching her back as she feels that familiar knot once again tightening in her stomach. She whimpers as she comes again, walls flexing over Jon’s cock as she falls apart, crying out his name and digging her fingers into the wood of the table. 

Jon watches in awe as his wife orgasms, cheeks flushed pink and cheeks damp with sweat. “Keep going,” Sansa says, “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Jon listens as he always does, swiveling his hips as he grows closer and closer to the edge. He collapses on top of Sansa, lips at her neck as he spills inside of her. He moves slower now, rutting his hips as he comes down from his high. 

They stay like that for a while, locked in each other, trying to calm their breathing. “I’m still mad at you,” Sansa mumbles, running her hands through Jon’s hair. 

“Then shall I keep making it up to you?” 

Sansa smirks; sitting up and straightening her hair. “Perhaps.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ mattysigh


End file.
